


Your ex-lover's lover

by JaqofSpades



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Professor Bass, and that's all 60 Moods DONE, current Charloe and Niles, my summer is over before it began, no blackout au, past Miloe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8258326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: Miles is probably flat on his back, willing himself towards unconsciousness.  He definitely doesn’t want to see them, but he’s still Charlie’s favourite uncle, and Bass and Miles were best friends for three decades before they fucked it up with sex.  Like Charlie keeps saying, it’s not Miles’ fault that Charlie fell in love with his ex-lover, so they keep trying.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThreeMagpies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeMagpies/gifts).



> Happy belated (September!) birthday to Three Magpies, who writes so many marvellous stories and gives us superb art and always comments so beautifully on our fics here in Revolution land. You like the Charloe and the Niles, and this last set of prompts for 60 Moods of Summer couldn't have been better designed to deliver that :D (In my twisty headcanon, anyway.) I've got to thank Hay for being the genius who came up with 'your ex-lovers lover' which might have looked ugly on the table, but it's a DOOZY of a prompt for our endlessly tangled Revo lovers, and I've been excited about writing it from the minute I saw the first draft of the table. (So of course it's the one I do last.)

They move through the rooms hand-in-hand, no longer willing to hide the fact they are together.  Normally, Bass and Charlie don’t bother with parties, but despite everything, the list of things they’re willing to do for Miles is still several items too long.  Case in point: raucous party.

Poor bastard hates them, and Bass knows they’ll find him hiding somewhere, drinking straight from a bottle, toasting himself.  Nothing like a spot of self-flagellation for your birthday, and when it’s a big round number like the-birthday-that-dares-not-say-it’s-name, Miles is probably flat on his back, willing himself towards unconsciousness.  He definitely doesn’t want to see them, but he’s still Charlie’s favourite uncle, and Bass and Miles were best friends for three decades before they fucked it up with sex.  Like Charlie keeps saying, it’s not Miles’ fault that Charlie fell in love with his **ex-lover** , so they keep trying. 

They might even owe him the **rescue,** Bass acknowledges.  The past three months hadn’t been easy on any of them, but it’s Miles who has been left alone, so maybe it’s up to them to make the effort. And they’ve come bearing Glenfiddich, so surely they can get past this crap to offer Miles some company on his birthday and a better class of whiskey.

The **karaoke** raging in the main house drives them outside to the pool house, quiet and dark and seemingly locked up tight.  Rachel had taken a break from turning her nose up at Bass to inform them it was off-limits to the party guests, but _whatever, Mom._   Charlie still has her key. 

“Maybe Miles can wait,” Bass grins as he follows Charlie down onto the comfy leather couch. She’s in his lap before he finishes the sentence, and he’s just discovered the suspenders she’s wearing under her little black dress when they hear a string of sharp curses ring out from the bedroom.  Then the banging starts, and – Charlie and Bass have fucked in that bed.  They know what the headboard sounds like hitting the wall.

“Did Miles bring a date?” Bass asks quietly, and Charlie shrugs.  She’s already easing herself off his lap, and yeah, maybe they should take this somewhere else, because spying on your ex-lover is going to go about as well as getting caught banging his niece.  Not that he can manage to regret that, even with the bruises still flowering on his body.

Sure, he’d thought Miles might kill him, and the pain on his face had been hard to take, but … he throbs just thinking about it, how desperate they’d been for each other that night.  How stupid, really, but Charlie been away for the entire first half of Summer when Rachel had bailed him up and invited him to a Matheson dinner.  He’d tried to back out of it, of course, but she’d smiled that cool smile and insisted they were all adults now and it’s been _six years_ , Bass. 

Sure, Rach, he’d thought.  Six years since I used to bang your ex-lover, but not even six months since your daughter bailed me up in my office and told me Professor Monroe was sexier than Uncle Bass ever was.  Not even six weeks since I spread her out on my desk and made her come all over my tongue while two of her classmates banged on the door. Less than six hours since she rang me to say good morning, and confessed how much she’s looking forward to coming home, but not to come to the airport because she’s too fucking horny and getting arrested for public indecency was a bad idea.

He really should have said no to dinner, but he’d missed her, and Ben and Danny too for that matter, and yes, there’s always a part of him that wants to see Miles.  So he’d gone, whiskey and wine in hand, and they’d hurtled towards disaster from the minute she opened the door.

“Jesus,” he’d groaned at the sight, Charlie golden and glowing in tiny white sundress that tied around her neck, nipped in at the waist, then flared out to end high on her thighs.  

“Behave,” she giggled, then pressed her whole body up against his for a lightning-fast kiss.  “Bass is here,” she’d sung out, and led him into the dining room, where Dickhead was already glowering from the other end of the table.  He barely said a word to either of them all night, but his eyes would move from Bass, to Charlie, then back to Bass again as they shrugged off the fact he was her Professor now, and no, it wasn’t weird at all, and yes, they saw each other some.  Every now and then he’d snort, and _yeah_ , Bass should have figured out that Miles was suspicious, _but_.

By the third bottle of wine, her foot had crept into his crotch as the conversation ebbed and flowed around them, her sly references to their encounters all over campus ratcheting his arousal higher and higher. He’d excused himself with every intention of finding some solo relief, but then Charlie blindsided him, pushing him into her father’s study and dropping to her knees even before he could lock the door. Which was probably why he forgot, hunger overwhelming them both as she licked her way up and down his cock before proceeding to rob him of his last few brain cells, suck by miraculous suck. 

As soon as his legs were steady, he’d carried her to the sofa and set to reclaiming the parts of her that had been driving him crazy all night.  Pulled free the teasing bow at the nape of her neck to find her sweet little tits already swollen for him, begging for his touch. He’d swallowed her whole, sucking the ripe mounds as far into his mouth as he could, then used his teeth to tug her nipples to full prominence, lashing her with his tongue to punish her for daring to leave him. 

She’d been twisting underneath him, chewing on her lip to stop herself from crying out, when he’d remembered they didn’t have much time.  Fast, he promised himself; he’d get her off fast, but _she’s not wearing any fucking underwear_ and she tastes like heaven, long hours of arousal leaving him a sticky path all the way to the holy grail, pink and swollen and overflowing with her lust.

He didn’t hear a goddamn thing as he spread her wide and feasted at the cup of her sex, so lost in the taste and smell of her that nothing else registered.  He’d slurped down her first orgasm and then pulled her into his lap to fuck her through a second, focused entirely on each other, their heat, their communion … and not the man watching from the doorway, cheeks flushed as he watched his only niece shudder and shake and cum all over his ex-lover’s cock.

She’d seen him first, lifting her head to stare over Bass’ shoulder, her tiny gasp betraying the seriousness of the situation. Bass had lifted himself off the floor with Charlie still wrapped around him, lowering her carefully back onto the sofa before bracing himself to turn around.  After all, who else could it be?

And what else could it be, that explosion of fury?  The curses thrown at him were vile and mostly untrue – he hadn’t been the one doing the seducing, after all, and two single people exploring an attraction hardly counted as a betrayal.  But the words fade away when the real fight starts, and truth screams out with every blow, the slam of Miles’ knee into his side, the hands tightening around his throat.   “Why?” Miles begs all over again, and Bass’ battered soul answers: “This. Exactly this – I couldn’t do it anymore.”

I loved you, Bass had despaired.  But you were so afraid of us it that it may as well have been hate sex.  I needed someone who knew how to love.

And he never expected it to be Charlie, never wanted it to be, not seeing the trap until it was too late.  He’d fended her off for months, until the anniversary rolled around and instead of getting roaring drunk the way he usually did, he let her rub his shoulders, then lock the door to his office.  Just a bit of comfort from a beautiful girl, he remembers thinking, even as his libido revved so high he forget where they were.  Even as professionalism and history and even family faded away in the face of his triumph: the girl had a bright, blazing Matheson soul, but hers was whole, and truly his. 

He’d forgotten how intoxicating it was, to love and be loved in return.

He’s happier than he’s ever been in his life, but the one cloud in his existence is Miles.  He no longer had to hide the knives, but they hadn’t made their way back to friends yet, either, which throbs like a raw blister. Hence the Glenfiddich, and showing solidarity and – interrupting, apparently.

Bass scans himself for the jealousy he’d lived with for so long, but only finds a faint sense of smug satisfaction.  He’s happy, and he wants Miles to be too, even if it’s only the shortlived, physical kind of happy. Very, very happy, from what they can hear.

There’s another long, garbled moan from the next room, the sound of man surrendering to torturous bliss, so heartfelt that Charlie turns to him with huge eyes.  “Woah. Is that really Uncle Miles?  Did you ---” she stops, and Bass prays she can’t see the sadness in his eyes.

“Not really what we used to do,” he confesses quietly, and he’ll explain properly, one day.  For now, it’s enough she knows that he and Miles were friends most of their lives, and lovers for a disastrous few years that tainted everything that came after.  Maybe one day, when Miles is happy, Bass will be able to find the words without having to rip his heart from his chest.  In the meantime, he’ll just have to live for both of them: satisfying work, refusing to give up on a friend, head over heels in love with someone who knows how to love him back.

Maybe one day, Miles will remember what that feels like, and forgive him for taking it all away. 

The bed starts to slam against the wall once more, and Charlie dares a glance back over her shoulder as they tiptoe past the door.  “Oh God.  _Listen_ to them.  Maybe they won’t come out?” she whispers, tangling his fingers in hers and guiding them under her skirt as they retreat to the room next door.  She’s wet, he discovers quickly, very, very wet, and maybe he’s discovered yet another thing he didn’t know about Charlie Matheson.

“You like that, baby? Listening in?”

Miles chooses that moment to let out a yell, and Charlie’s shudder tells him everything he needs to know.  He spins her around, guides her hands to brace against the door, and drops his jeans quicker than you can say “kinky fucking Mathesons.”

“You want me to fuck you while Uncle Miles is fucking whoever he’s got next door?”

“Sounds like she might be fucking him,” Charlie gasps, but the way she moves against his fingers, yeah, she wants it.  He lets her ride them a moment longer, lets her coat his hand in her juices until they’re dripping, then guides his cock into the welcoming clutch of her pussy.  When she tries to fuck back into him, he presses her into the door and slams in harder.

“Thought you were listening, baby?  Fantasising, maybe?  This is how Miles fucks, Charlie.  No quarter given,” he rasps, bending his head to scrape his teeth along the side of her neck.  “Is that what you want, little girl?”

“Yes!” Charlie sobs and starts to clench around him so hard he knows they’ve opened up a tin of worms here.  Ignoring the tangled web of their relationships is one thing, actually using it, getting off to it – that’s dangerous, especially with things as fucked up as they are right now.  But who is he kidding?  Dangerous and fucked up is catnip to Mathesons and Monroes alike, and there’s a reason she’s shuddering as if he’s been edging her for hours.  The same reason his balls are about to explode, arousal magnified by the low murmurs and sensual giggles next door, imagining the scene, watching Charlie do the same, biting at her lip as she tries to keep from crying out, wondering which name she’ll say ... they’re voyeurs together, deuces wild, other people’s rules need not apply.

She mewls against the door and he hooks one leg high over his arm, the change of angle plunging him into new depths that make her squeak.  In seconds she’s straining to spread herself more open for him, to take more of him, and he takes the cue to slide his free hand down her back, glistening silver trails marking the passage of his sticky fingers as they linger over the fullness of glorious ass, then burrow between to find the tight little ring.

“How hard do you wanna come, baby girl?”

She only manages a sob, but he knows exactly what it means.  She wants it all, and just one slippery finger is enough to leave her screaming and clamping so hard around his cock it’ll hurt.

(He fucking loves that.)

And it’s time, it’s the perfect time, because Miles is a chanting a name now, a fervent mutter that’s rising to a yell, the cadence swelling to the jagged rhythms of his fucking, the slam of their flesh audible through the wall.

They’re all going to come, and come so fucking hard, Bass thinks as his balls pull up and he fights the near-delirium to give Charlie what she needs, a gentle press that sets her to shaking the minute he breaches.  He strokes, and presses, strokes and presses, and she erupts around him, howling, forgetting to be quiet.

Oops, he thinks, and then, the moment before the white out comes, I know that name.  Is it her, Miles?  Is it really her?

“Nora!” Miles bellows, and Bass is jerking, shaking, pressing Charlie flat against the door as he fills her with long, muscle wracking gouts of cum.  He’s nothing but sensation in that moment, but somewhere, something sparks in the back of his brain.

Nora. After all this time.  It’s Nora.

He should probably expect a thunderbolt, his final grand reckoning for all the crappy things he’s done in his life.  Of all the names to hear in this moment, it’s the one he would have never expected. He remembers hissing it from his lips, throwing it as a curse, plotting against her, lovely, lovely Nora. Just the way Miles used to look at her left him writhing with jealousy.  It’s unimaginable that just hearing her name – hearing Miles chant her name, no less – could make him feel … whatever this is.  Beyond the obvious.  He knows they don’t deserve it, he certainly doesn’t, but for Miles, he’s grateful.  Excited.

Especially when the urgent tones from behind the door rise into sobs of sweet laughter.  Not just hers, either.  Bass had forgotten Miles could make such an unrestrained sound, something beyond a wry chuckle or a sort of amusement.  She’s got him laughing, that big, deep belly laugh, and hope flares, incandescent.

Nora Clayton.

He’d always known she was the one, no matter how much Miles had protested.  How Bass had hated her, then.  She was too smart, too straightforward, too moral for Miles, but none of those things had mattered, in the end.  She’d fallen in love him, and he’d been a better person, for a while.

But Bass hadn’t been, and Bass knew exactly how to get what he wanted from Miles, and he’d been cruel about it, too.  Let her find them, sweaty and spent, filthing up her favourite sheets.  She hadn’t even let them see her cry, and he’d been glad of that.  He admired her too much to spare her his pity.

And now, she’s back, and he’s the world’s biggest fucking hypocrite, because she owes him nothing but Miles is happy and Bass’ whole fucking world has just slid into balance as a result.  He thought he was done being fucking Machiavelli, but Charlie murmurs contentedly underneath him and Miles is still laughing and he knows, in that moment, he’ll do anything it takes to make Nora stay.


	2. Chapter 2

They’d met in the middle of a firefight.  Not the first time, that had been in his office and they’d tried not to look at each other too much, both of them instantly aware that this was going to be something.  They just didn’t know what, and looking back, Miles is kind of glad of that.  Because the long and sorry tale that is Miles and Nora had lurched from unwise to inevitable to disastrous to here-we-go-again, but that still couldn’t kill the feelings.

Guilt and love and bitterness and some more guilt, mostly, but none of it seemed to matter in the end.  He’d filed them away as done and dusted, over, just one more relationship felled by the legendary Matheson compulsion to fuck up, and then - **gunshots** rang out as he crossed a courtyard in Kandahar.  He hadn’t even known she was there, didn’t even think she was in country, let alone figure out that tiny medic bent over one of his men was astonishingly familiar. It’d been eight years, after all, and last he’d heard she was training up recruits at Camp Pendleton.  As far away from Miles as she could get, basically.

But the lithe dancer’s body, the line of her cheek and when she turned her head to snap at him, those incredible, tip-tilted eyes – it was Nora, alright, and he’d been flung from worried to pissed to frantic in the space of a second, yelling she was supposed to be safe back home, not plastered to a wall in the middle of the warzone, and _really Nora?  What the fuck?_

“What the fuck?  Fuck you too, Miles – I’m doing my job,” she’d hissed, her hands still gentle on her patient as she sealed the field dressing.  “Do I look like I need rescuing?”

His mouth had flapped a few times before he remembered how scarily competent she was, and his fucking soldiers hadn’t been able to wipe the grins off their faces as she landed one zinger after another, criticising his mission, his leadership, his skillset, his life choices and his parentage.

He wanted to tell her to shut up, because his 2ic was getting twitchy and Miles didn’t need to have his ex put up on some sort of insubordination rap just because he’s stumbled into her mission, but – he was kind of loving it.  Fuck, he’d missed Nora.

Later, she’ll explain about her stint teaching, and how the need to get back out in the field had eaten at her every day.  How the gastro **epidemic** had taken out entire units, and medics were being dropped in to offer as much relief as they could.  How she’d decided that sooner or later, they’d run into each other, and just have to deal. 

“Didn’t expect it to be in the middle of a firefight.  Sorry.”  She’d shrugged, simultaneously telling him that he had no right to go apeshit, but she understood why he did.  Over-protective asshole mode, she used to call it.

Only one person in his life had ever managed to deal with his bullshit the way Nora did, and of course, they had to go and hate each other.  Though maybe that was harsh.  Bass didn’t hate Nora.  She was just in his way, and that was probably Miles’ fault for ignoring the signals Bass had been sending out.  The whirlwind of casual sex and friends with benefits and the sudden, undeniable proof that Bass was fucking men too, and yes, the weirdness between them lately really was that thing he’d denied for so long.

Outright jealousy, after he’d started seeing Nora.  He hadn’t even had to tell Bass, just introduced her as his unit’s new medic, but he’d seen right through them straight away.

“Medic, huh?” he’d asked, and flashed the dazzling grin that called bullshit.  “Gonna tend my wounds too, baby?”

Nora had called him a pig and presumptuous and Miles hadn’t been game to admit there was a time when he and Bass had shared all their women.  Had shared other things, too, that trampled all over the boundaries of friendship, taking it into unfamiliar, unsettling terrain.

If only he’d told her, he thinks now.  She’s fallen into him, completely sated in the wake of the astonishing sex they’ve just had, but she still doesn’t trust him the way she used to.  They’d been dating a year, and had moved in together just a few weeks previous, when it happened.  The jacuzzi had stopped working, and Nora loved to soak in the damn thing after her shift, so he’d called Bass over to help fix it.

They’d had to change out some part in the motor, and ended up stripped to the waist and streaked with grease.  And once they’d fixed the thing, it made sense to test it out, leaving their clothes in a pile and shoving each other as they’d climbed into the tub.  Bass had asked how things were with Nora, and he hadn’t through to take it seriously.  “What, you want some of my girl?” Miles had teased, and it was all a joke, right up until it wasn’t.

“Wouldn’t mind a bite,” Bass had smirked, and Miles had jumped him, twisting his arm behind his back, forcing Bass to double over in a bid to escape.  And then Miles must have lost his goddamn mind, because he’d said something about Bass’ pretty mouth, and all Bass had to do was turn his goddamn head to watch Miles tremble as he licked along the length of his undeniably hard cock.

He’d come twice and given his first blowjob before they made it back to the bedroom, any pretence at mere curiosity fading rapidly in the face of the things Bass made him want.  Made him crave, even now, the taste of his skin and the sting of his cock and the thrill of hearing him bleat and beg when Miles unleashed.  They’d been high on lust, that first night, completely blind to consequence, and sometimes he still aches for that selfish innocence, because everything after was poisoned by what happened next.

They didn’t hear her key in the door, or her tread on the stairs, just her cry of pain.  Shock, and disbelief, and betrayal.  Maybe if he’d been able to talk about this shit, maybe if he’d been a bit more self-aware, they might have been able to salvage something, or at least make it hurt less.  Instead, he ripped them apart like a **torn photo** , the future fractured and their past suddenly suspect.  He’d loved her, he knows that.

But he’d loved Bass his whole life and maybe there was more to that than he’d ever suspected and he couldn’t look at her anyway, so he let her walk out.  Signed her transfer papers, sent on her stuff, shame still burning in his heart.

Maybe that’s why he needed to punish himself, after that.  Punish Bass.

He knew it wasn’t Bass fault.  Bass hadn’t cheated, and it wasn’t Bass who had been so deeply conditioned he’d never even thought to question his assumed sexuality.  But none of that stopped Miles from blaming him.  And taking it out on him – pleasurably, at first, so much so that they didn’t even notice when things started to shift.  Became vicious, then ugly, any pleasure a mere side-effect of a darker compulsion.

He remembers Bass begging to come, sobbing in his desperation, pleading, and her name echoing in his head as he drifted above the scene, detached.  _See, Nora? See what I do for you? See how I make him pay?_   And it just made him angrier, knowing how wrong it was.  How much she’d hate it, because Nora would never have wanted Bass to suffer like that.  She wasn’t cruel, like him.  Neither of them were, even if Bass had tried, just to please him.  They’d limped on for two years like that, him and Bass, but he’d never let it become what either of them wanted. 

That night had claimed two relationships in the end, and while he’d resigned himself to losing Nora, knowing it was exactly what he’d deserved, losing Bass was like losing a leg.  It was a long road back to whole, even before they’d cut the other leg out from under him, that day in the study at Ben’s

Bass and Charlie.  _Bass_ and Charlie.  Bass and _Charlie_.

He still can’t quite wrap his mind around it, even though he’s seen them together since.  Cuddled into a booth together at Charlie’s favourite bar, the same one he and Bass had taken her to for her 21st birthday.  Grinding against each other on the hood of the Mustang he’d given her the day she’d graduated high school.  Breathless and blind with need, and burning with something that hurt to recognise, even if he’d been the one to throw it away.

Even if he’d been given a chance to find it again.  He hadn’t really known what to say, when Nora asked him about Bass.  How you explain to your ex-lover that your other ex-lover is now madly in love with your niece?  He’d mumbled something about he and Bass not being close any more, and had flinched at the sadness in her eyes, the empathy there.  He doesn’t deserve that – they didn’t.  But when he does tell her, after they’ve decided to try again, to keep it light and see what happens, she laughs.  She laughs and laughs and laughs.

He’s vaguely pissed and honestly doesn’t see the fucking joke, but whatever.  She’s got a right, and seems to think “Mathesons!” actually explains something.

Maybe he’ll finally figure it out tonight, because sooner or later, they’ll probably run into Bass and Charlie.  Rachel had invited half of Chicago, it looked like, and had made a point of making him promise to behave himself (and be sociable, but he’s pretty sure ‘don’t kill Bass’ was the primary directive for the night.)  He figures the best solution to both of those problems was to nod and smile, nod and smile, just long enough to find the best bottle of whiskey in the house, then head for the privacy of the pool house.

“Isn’t the party back there?” Nora had smirked as they slipped out the back, and he’d slid his hand from her waist to grip the lush glory of her ass.

“Wanna go back?” he’d asked, stroking lower, and she’d made him dangle over the abyss for long moments until she eased her legs apart a little, letting him feel her heat through the silky dress she was wearing.  He’d groaned, and she’d laughed as he fumbled for the key in the dark, then barely managed to get in the lock with her hands wandering up and down his back.

“Quick, Miles.  You’ve got a party to get to,” she’d taunted, cupping her hand over his straining cock.  “Wouldn’t want –ah!“ her squeal had reverberated through the empty rooms as he swung her up into his arms, and carried her through to the main bedroom.  He had her panties off before the bed stopped bouncing, and his face buried in her pussy seconds later.

“Oh God, Miles.  Okay.  You win. Best possible …”

God, he loved making this woman scream.  And this time around, since they promised to talk about this stuff, promised not to hold back, he’s discovered it’s pretty damn mutual.  Relinquishing control might be the scariest thing he’s ever done, but the rewards are every bit as potent as the risk. And this Nora – grown up Nora, the one who had survived him, she told him with a twist to her mouth – surprised him like no one else could.

He’s still shaking from the mindbending vibrations of the little toy she’d produced from her sparkly evening bag after telling him it was his turn to lie back and enjoy himself.  She’d buzzed it over his nipples first, then down his midline, then let drift from side to side across his belly, lower and lower until she was tracing around his swollen cock.  He’d just about decided it had only been a figure of speech, and was trying to tug her up his body to sit on his face, when she backed away altogether and commanded he turn over.

She’d sat astride his thighs and circled the tiny vibrator around and around his sensitive ring, teasing him until he was ready to scream for her fuck him with the damn thing.  It had been so long – since Bass, in fact - and while he’d admitted some things, more than he thought he ever could, he’d hadn’t even realised just how hungry he was for this. 

“Please, Nora,” he found himself begging.  “No more, please.  I need it …”

“Like this?” she’d asked, rolling it so that it edged inside a little, licking her taunt into his ear.  “Enjoying this, Miles?  Reminding you of someone, perhaps?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, sanity is screaming _stop this, stop_ , because he’d seen how she stiffened when she caught sight of Bass and Charlie as they’d arrived, felt her hand drop from his.  He’d grabbed it back, brought it to his mouth in a mix of reassurance and apology, then followed her gaze back to them. 

“You didn’t say how good they were together,” she had murmured, and fuck.  He can’t unsee it now, the heat between them palpable as they stalked around the edges of the crowd, their golden beauty outshone only by their mutual ensorcelment.  He doesn’t want to see them with a stranger’s eyes, because then he’d be forced to admit it – they are good together, his ex-lover and his niece.  They’re functional, and sane, and loving, all the things he and Bass weren’t.  And …

Nope.  Not going there.  Can’t, he moans, even as the filthy thought electrifies every pleasure centre he has.  Not thinking about Bass, and that look he gets on his face when your teeth find … or Charlie, on her knees for him, or maybe  … “fuck, Nora.  Please.  Please?”

“Did he do this for you?” she purrs, twisting the toy once more so that it burrows deeper, the vibrations skittering up and down his spine, his entire body clenching around the device, preparing, pulling up, about to … “do you think she does it for him, maybe?  What about this?”

His entire body bows with the shock of pleasure as she licks a hot stripe over his balls, humming against the quivering sacs before sucking one, then the other into her wet mouth.  His cock swells into a burning tree trunk of a thing, and he grinds it into the mattress as his entire body screams with the need to come. 

Nora’s laugh is a wet rumble around his balls, sealed with the sting of her teeth into the fleshy part of his ass.  The sensation erupts in a riot of pleasure-pain, and he feels himself start to spurt. But he doesn’t, can’t … he chokes it off, fingers merciless, then hauls himself up onto his knees. 

“Nora.”  He sounds like a sick sheep, bleating for his shepherd to come rescue him. But it’s all he can manage, with this need eating him alive.  Luckily, he doesn’t need a single word more – she pushes him onto his back, then crawls over him to sink down, their groans echoing in concert. 

“Gonna last about two seconds,” he admits, and she just grins, and pushes a button on the tiny remote.  The damn toy explodes in his ass, the powerful vibrations making him buck right off the bed, Nora clinging to him as she giggles helplessly.  But then he’s thrusting, the snap of his hips pure reflex as he slams wildly into the wet welcome of her body.  He’s beyond finesse, beyond waiting for her pleasure, beyond any sort of thought at all, grunting and bucking and filling her with long shudders of release.  Just when he thinks he’s done, Nora hits the button again, and his cock is immediately iron hard, renewed.

“Well, would you look at that?” she groans, circling her hips in an agonisingly slow circle.  “Now we both get a turn.”

It’s her sly grin that sets him off laughing, mad sputters of glee in between the quiet moans of carnal enjoyment.  He doesn’t think he could possibly come again – the fact that she’s jumpstarted him into another erection is miracle enough – but the wet glide of her, the sight of her taking her pleasure so shamelessly, acres of bare, brown skin glistening with sweat as she leans back, lets her head loll as the sensation mounts, and fuck, fuck …

This time it happens together, a wave

“Nora!” he yells, and her mouth opens in silent, agonised delight, as the wave of pleasure rises, then crests, crashing over their heads, leaving them wrecked and gasping for breath.  He pulls her into his arms, and they wriggle up the bed to burrow under the covers, her feet migrating between his calves the way they always did, her breasts flattened against his chest as she snuggles close.

He’s smiling as he falls asleep, and maybe he heard something, or maybe he imagined it.  Doesn’t matter – he’s sure as hell not leaving this bed, or this woman, to investigate it.

Even if it did sound like a swallowed gasp, a series of thumps, then a cry, hastily muffled, but recognisable as the throes of passion.  Recognisable, too, for that familiar voice, even if he’s never heard her quite like that before.

“Bass, Bass, Bass,” his niece chants, and his ears insist on picking out counterpoint rhythms, and that strangled groan, and fuck, he’d nearly killed the guy for less than this, last time.  He’d do it again, too, if he could be bothered leaving this bed.  If his limbs weren’t heavy as molasses.  If Nora wasn’t so completely tangled around him he didn’t even want to know where she finished and he began.

If it wasn’t his goddamn birthday and if he didn’t just want to be done with their shit, and get on with living.  They sounded happy.

He's surprised for a moment how much he likes that, but then it doesn't matter. He'll tell them when he wakes up.  Happy is good.  Happy is hope burning in his chest and the smile on his face as he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter of this because I am a hopeless sap.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: c1: your ex-lover’s lover, rescue, karaoke, hate sex. C2: gunshots, epidemic, torn photo.


End file.
